Into the Storm
by SSLE
Summary: A storm is coming to England. How will England - and Europe - react to the death of a King and to a revolution that will change them forever?


**So this was an idea I had after a long semester of classes. I was finally (!) able to discuss some matters concerning- 17 century History of England and this is the product of it. **

**This one shot and possible future fic change History profoundly. You have been warned. **

* * *

**30 of January of 1556**

Thomas ran. It was a cold January rainy day and as he jumped through the pools of mud, his trousers got dirtier. And everyone was running as well so it wasn't only his hurried pace that got his expensive clothes stained. There were people screaming and he saw a woman falling. He stopped to help her stand. He didn't stay there enough to hear her heartily thanks.

As he approached the Palace of Whitehall it got harder and harder to get through the people. Crowds filled the streets and as he saw the front of the palace he also saw the scaffold. It had been placed in front of the palace, barring the doors. Behind the platform Thomas could see big red flags with the Tudor Roses. How ironic, he thought, with a little desperation. It had not got harder to get through the people. The curious and morbid crowd was a living organism and everyone was pushing around. No one was quiet.

He guessed the king wasn't still there. With a great degree of difficulty Thomas managed to break through the people, occasionally hearing an insult thrown at him. He ignored him and continued to push forward. By some sort of miracle he managed to get to the front. Yes, the King was still not there. But Cromwell was. Thomas gritted his teeth and looked straight at him. The other man ignored him and ignored the crowd as well. In fact, he looked so calm as if no one was there in front of him.

Thomas had met Cromwell before of course. Everyone he knew had. But his figure never ceased to amaze him. He had a long hair, longer than men usual wore it: it was dark blonde and it touched his shoulders. He wasn't a handsome man. There was a wart above his left eye. But the firmness of his jaw, the thinness of his lips and the grey of his eyes made him the most intimidating man he had ever known.

It was said that even the King, the great Tudor King, a tall, strong man, self centered man had trembled in Cromwell's presence. And who wouldn't?

But Thomas didn't. And when Cromwell's eyes met his, Thomas just held the gaze. All the hatred had vanquished from his heart and he just stared back. That battle of wits was interrupted when a hand was placed on Thomas's shoulder. It was John. He was pale as death and the Earl of Chester placed an arm around the younger man's shoulders. "It's…"

"It's not alright" He said sadly. "It really isn't. It shouldn't be like this"

Thomas couldn't say anything because he agreed. It shouldn't be like this. It couldn't be like this, he never wanted this. And how could this be happening? It was surreal, it was as if everything he had taken for granted, everything he had taken as secure was crumbling, was a lie. This wasn't the world he wanted his children to grow up in.

Suddenly everyone stopped talking. The King was coming to his death. Before the sound of the people was overwhelming but now it was even more disturbing. To have dozens of people in such a small space…and none of them was uttering a single word. John lowered his head suddenly now wanting to see.

Thomas of Montfort didn't like Henry VIII. Henry had been the responsible for the death of his godfather, Thomas More. Thomas's father Richard, the Earl of Chester had died away from Court unable to practice his religion, not after the Book of Prayer. His mother had followed. It hadn't been fair. But life wasn't fair.

Henry was responsible for all of it. And yet Thomas couldn't help but pity him. The King was thinner. This didn't mean that he was thin per se. But he was obviously thinner and haggard. But despite this, Henry still retained all of his magnetism all of his majestic power. He stood up there making Cromwell look like a small man. And that was not an easy task. The King approached his people and Thomas was so close he could see Henry pressing his lips together.

Apparently they were allowing him to make a speech.

"You are my people. I will always be…your King. I was born to be a King and that was what God intended. And no man!" He raised his tone here "No man can say the contrary. I will always be a part of England…I have changed it forever. And everything I did…was for you. For my people. For my Realm…for my England"

Thomas watched him attentively. He was calm and straight but there was emotion in his voice. Not because, Thomas knew, he was going to die. He suspected it was because he hated Cromwell more than anything and he and Parliament would be in charge of England from now on. Henry VIII couldn't – wouldn't – ever bear that even so close to his death as he was now.

The silence became deafening. Henry was not exactly loved by the people anymore, not as he was but no one could deny that his presence and dignity in that moment even if before those qualities had failed him.

John wasn't able to stare at it and turned his back leaving disappearing into the crowd. Thomas however was unable to tear his eyes away from the King. Mixed feelings battled inside him. Cromwell on the other hand feeling that the crowd sympathy was going to the King, fearing an uprising nodded shortly to the executioner who took a step towards the King. Exceptionally he took off his hood and knelled before the King, begging forgiveness for what he was about to do

Henry shook his head "You have it. For it is not your fault"

Henry Tudor, no longer King of England, knelled before the English People and joined his hands together. "God please protect these Kingdoms. Please, make England prosper. Save her. Save her"

A sword had come from Glastonbury. Henry had requested a sword made specifically by forgers of that place because Glastonbury was believed to be the place where Avalon used to be, where Arthur found Excalibur.

Full of symbolism, therefore. Just the kind of thing, Thomas realized, that Cromwell despised but that the people admired. Henry finished the prayer and closed his eyes. The executioner raised his sword. Thomas closed his eyes as he heard the blade cutting through the air and the characteristic sound of flesh being torn apart.

There were exclamations: some of pain, others of joy but none of indifference. Thomas knew it was over when he heard Cromwell's strong, deep voice crying "And behold people of England! It's red! As the blood of all of us!"

* * *

**Palace of Westminster, Westminster Hall, 10 of February**

It was Thomas's first parliament after he was elected a member of the House of Commons. It was also the first session of Parliament since the death of the King. Edward, Henry's son and the most prominent nobles of the Court had escaped to France, such as the Duke of Norfolk and the Duke of Somerset, Edward Seymour and the Duke of Northumberland. These last two were closer to Edward and were raising him as a Calvinist, a believer in the supreme power of the King. Norfolk however, they all knew tended towards Catholicism and that was the real reason he had escaped: In all reality, he hated Henry for he had killed his father and grandfather but no catholic, much less a noble so powerful as he would survive in a state controlled by Cromwell and his puritans.

He would probably go to Spain. And Thomas much doubted that Edward and the Court would remain in France for much longer. They would probably join young Elizabeth and her husband, William in the Netherlands.

So Thomas Simon of Montfort stood alone inside Westminster Hall as the first rays of the morning sun entered through the stained glass. He was the first to arrive and he was sure to be the last to leave.

Well, not quite the first he realized as he heard steps behind him. "I can see you are as committed to Parliament as your ancestor was"

He spurned around only to see Oliver Cromwell standing there. Closer to him was his secretary, William Cecil. Thomas stared at Cecil first who kept his head low but his eyes lit; they could see everything. It was rumoured that even though Cromwell was the mastermind, the commander of the parliamentarian armies, the staunch puritan, Cecil was the one who maneuvered allies and enemies to agree, in several sorts of ways, with Cromwell's decisions.

His right hand man. Two of the most intelligent men in Europe were standing in front of him, Thomas had no doubt. And he was facing them alone. "My lord" He said quietly as Cromwell approached him. Cecil stood a little bit behind.

"I saw you at the execution. With your friend, Locke. Though he left earlier"

"He doesn't like violence"

Cromwell smiled. "No one likes violence. Sometimes it is necessary"

"I beg to differ. There are men who like violence…who are…aroused by it" Thomas answered helding firmly his gaze. He wasn't scared of him. He should be, he was well aware of that, but he wasn't. And Cromwell was perfectly aware of that.

Cromwell changed the subject "And you? What did you feel at the execution? After all your family more than any other suffered from the late King's decisions…"

He was testing him. "Henry was not a good king"

"Your father certainly thought so…though he was a catholic wasn't he?" Cromwell almost spat the word "catholic". It was said with a contempt that would have put the most arrogant king of the world to shame. The man hated the supporters of the Church of England: he thought them to be opportunistic and feeble minded, following only the King's orders. That was why he and his friends had created the puritan movement.

But he hated Catholics more than everything. "Yes. My father was a follower of the old faith"

"But you…are not, are you?"

Thomas felt the urge to hit him but his face showed no signs of such desire "My religion won't be problem for you, my lord"

"Oh I know it won't." Cromwell added deftly. Then he smiled "You are smart. And you must be so proud…I am certainly, for having you as a member of Parliament now. A direct descendant of Simon of Montfort himself! The father of the English Parliament! How can we not expect great things from you?"

"We are very proud of our heritage, my Lord. Though I would hate to disappoint you"

"I am sure" Cromwell whispered "that is not going to happen"

There was a moment of extreme tension lingering in the air. But Thomas never backed off. "I'm not so sure" Montfort answered. "I'm not so sure"

* * *

**The Netherlands, 1556**

The Marquis of Sande, Portuguese ambassador to the Netherlands, was in Court when the Prince and Princess of Orange received the news of the death of the King of England. Mary and the King of Spain, her husband, Philip were also there and the emotion was evident. Sande watched Philip attentively. He held on to his wife who buried her head on the crook of his neck. Elizabeth however was not ready to be comforted. William stared at her with worry all over his face but she merely stood and exited the room. He hesitated for a moment but exchanged a look with both Philip and Lamoral and left.

The present King of Spain, who was so now following the abdication of the Emperor his father, conducted his own wife to their quarters. The Marquis followed them discretely. He enjoyed good relations with the King of Spain and especially with his secretary, Ruy Gomes da Silva, a Portuguese. It was Ruy whom he found out outside the King's quarters sitting close to the window sipping wine.

"You are deep thought, D. Ruy"

"Excellency" He greeted with a weak smile.

"How are the King and Queen of Spain?"

Ruy was not in the mood for trying to round the question. "They are disturbed. As every King in Christendom will be when they hear about this news."

Sande thought about his own King. A boy, a child. A helpless child. "Henry was not a good King"

"Because he turned away from the Church of Rome?" Ruy asked between the amused and the annoyed. "Is that why he deserved it?"

"I didn't say he deserved it. Even because of the alternative. If Henry was bad then this Oliver is a devil. We ought to be careful. Including your King"

"Whom? D. Sebastião?"

Sande smirked "Well that one too" He then proceeded to sit next to Ruy who handed him his cup, in a silent agreement of friendship and comradeship. Sande's blue eyes were closed for a moment. When he opened them he sighed and whispered

"These are dark times we live in"

"Yes. We will have to be ready. The storm is coming"

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**So here it is. What do you think? I really want to continue this, perhaps in a close future.**


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